2: Challenged!

Nera couldn’t remember when she’d first seen the stars. She was such a little girl then and she did recall walking along that night (which of itself was a little strange as she was never allowed up past her bedtime). But, there she was, hand in hand with her father. The moons had all set and it was a perfect night, not a cloud in the sky and only a slight breeze that made the trees rustle and the fields of wheat ripple softly.

“Daddy,” she’d said, staring upwards, “What are those?”

He knelt beside her on the rough, dirt road. “Those are stars.”

“Do they really twinkle like that?”

“Here they do, but out in space they’re as constant as the light in your room.”

“Do people go there, Daddy?”

He smiled at her, a big, cheerful grin. “Yes, I do believe they do.” He stood, taking her hand again.

“I’m gonna go there.”

Nera remembered him kissing the top of her head. “You can do anything you set your mind to, Kiddo.”

“Anything I want, mmmm,” Nera murmured to herself. She stared out the small window and thought back almost twenty-four hours:

Of the four wings being re-supplied at the Apollo Moon Installation, one was now inactive, its ships too damaged to leave as assigned. One of the five troop transports was so badly damaged the decision was made to take it apart as scrap. Although the 612th sustained heavy casualties and the 611th fared worse, the two wings did manage to keep the enemy at bay long enough for the pilots of the 610th and 609th to enter the battle. The ships of the fleet there at Apollo dealt out as heavy damage as their pilots, once free of the installation. The attack was successfully deterred, a first victory for the new additions to the fleet.

For excellence in battle, several pilots received medals in the ceremony that followed. In addition to the traditional welcome-aboard procedures, the captain of each ship praised his group. Each Group Commander was then welcomed to the podium to hand out awards. Debbra Chmielewski and her wingman, Robyn Lugo, were two of the honorees. Nera listened, stood, and applauded with the rest of her pilots, but she kept a carefully bland expression on her face. At the conclusion, despite her fatigue, Nera went to the launch bay.

“Captain,” one of the techs greeted her with a nod.

The bay was mostly deserted, the clean-up work done. New battle pods from the 609th replaced those lost, shiny and ding-free. Nera went straight to her own pod. She climbed aboard, running her own diagnostic. Nera was no engineer; long ago she’d resigned herself to that, but she knew how her pod should feel. She placed her hand on the palm-pad, feeling the ship respond to the movement of her hand. Satisfied, she crawled out onto the nose, staring down at the six brand-new enemy fighters painted proudly onto the scared, dinged, and scorched hull.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

The voice startled Nera out of her light doze. She scowled down at her sister. “What do you want?” The moment the words were out, Nera wanted to take them back. “I mean – I’m sorry, Deb, I’m just tired.”

Deb was unfazed. “I wanted to show you my medal, Nera.” She held up the bronze circle by its ribbon. “It says, ‘Bravery in Battle’. Isn’t that cool? It’s my first ribbon.”

“Yeah, well, congratulations.”

“Haven’t you ever gotten any ribbons, Nera?”

She shrugged. “Of course.” But not for so routine an encounter, she thought bitterly.

“Oh, you only got six? I shot down ten,” Deb said proudly, giving a patronizing pat to the nose of Nera’s pod.

Nera rolled her eyes, trying to put aside her indignation and resentment. I got more than that my first battle, she thought, with a small, smug smile. “Yes,” she agreed, “I only got six, but our job was not to shoot the enemy, but protect Mercury. They lost a lot of good pilots.” She left the rest of the sentence unsaid.

Deb ignored the implied criticism. “They couldn’t have been that good,” she scoffed, “or they wouldn’t have got shot down.”

Nera gawked at her sister. “Not that good?” she echoed, leaning forward.

Deb shrugged. “Well, I guess we’ll never know now. You know,” she continued, running her finger along one of the pod’s larger dents, “You should get a new pod. This one’s pretty beat up. Could get you killed.”

“I like this one,” Nera replied stiffly.

“I proposed new schematics, a new craft entirely, actually, to the Defense Tribunal. All single-piloted. I think they liked my idea. Soon, we won’t have to drive these old antiques.” She looked up into Nera’s face, frowning at the unreadable expression there. “Aren’t you even going to congratulate me?”

“Congrats.”

“Well, I gotta go, we’re throwing a bash in the mess. Are you coming?”

“No.” For an instant, Nera thought about warning her sister, but the moment passed.

“Well, see you later then,” and Deb walked away.

“Not if I can help it,” Nera muttered. She leaned back against the canopy, but the welcome cool darkness of the bay suddenly seemed cold. The new pods, some with only a bit of black to evidence they’d seen battle, seemed mocking, staring at her as if they were laughing; a private joke at her expense.

Feeling more dispirited than ever, Nera hopped down, giving her pod a long look. It was rather the worse for wear, but Nera was comfortable in it. Her pod was like an extension of her own body. She felt more secure in her pod, her visor letting her see in every direction, than anywhere else.

“I don’t care what she says,” she murmured, giving her pod a light caress. “I like you just the way you are.”

The hallways Nera walked, still not ready for sleep, were as absent of people as they’d been full only hours before. The ship vibrated a little beneath her feet as the ships of the 612th cruised on the path of the fleeing enemy attack force. Only two of the smaller battleships escaped their failed surprise attack. The 612th was the only wing fully supplied and able to leave immediately. They waited only for pilots and pods from the 609th. The enemy was not fast, but the fleet did not want them to escape, not after penetrating so far into Confederation Space. Apollo was supposed to be the fleet’s most highly defended installation, an impenetrable fortress deep within territory claimed by the Confederation. Even as the 612th followed, the 333rd and 326th moved to intercept from their positions along the border.

Finally tired enough to sleep, Nera took a shortcut past the mess to get to her room. The party was audible for meters, the thrumming of the music giving Nera a headache. Tired though she was, Nera couldn’t resist a peek inside. Men and women from all over the ship danced wildly to the crazy music. They drank and sang stupid songs and a group in one corner looked to be playing some form of poker. The more experienced pilots and crew were conspicuous in their absence. Nera shook her head. They’d learn.

0900 the following day found Nera flying her ship in the Sim6000, a virtual reality simulation that allowed pilots to hone their skills without using up valuable air and fuel and possibly losing an expensive piece of machinery. She flew the usual computer-generated sims to warm up, then flipped the indicator, letting the computer know she’d like to go up against a real opponent. When the board came up, Nera chose the enemy, preferring to fight one on one rather than working together with her opponent. The screen darkened then the simulation took substance around her.

Nera commanded a squadron-size number of enemy fighters, up against a group of battle pods. She almost laughed as she recognized Kaidara’s distinctive style. She spoke her commands and the fighters raced forward. She and Kaidara battled across an old battlefield, cluttered with debris that shifted randomly. The disputed target was a battered derelict, her orders to defend at all costs.

Kaidara sent her pods forward in a formation Nera recalled from her Academy days, but she knew Kaidara was trickier than that. Keeping the main portion of her force back, hiding among the debris, Nera sprung the trap. The smaller force was almost totally wiped out, but now Kaidara was vulnerable. They were too far into the debris field to allow the pods the advantage of their greater maneuverability. Their distinctive pod shapes made them easy targets. Nera moved her fighters in a pinwheel, cutting through Kaidara’s battle pods. Seeing her opportunity, she took out the squadron commanders in their single pods, then reversed her ships before they could respond, destroying the vices and a few of the flight commanders.

Then Nera saw a moving blip on her visor where there shouldn’t be. “Oh, no you don’t!” she muttered, and activated her reserves. The fighters shot out of their hiding places in the derelict, destroying the pods down to the last one. Shortly, the words, “Game over. You win,” scrawled across her visor. “Play again?” Nera shrugged and pressed the button for another game. This time it was one against one and she won easily.

In the Sim, Nera quickly lost track of time. Next to flying her pod, playing the Sim was her favorite thing to do. As she progressed in the ranks, so did the options open to her through the Sim. Players were allowed to play up to one rank higher than their current rank. Nera could be a Squadron Commander, but no further. She never played against another person at a new level until she had satisfied herself with the computer-generated sims. She rarely lost against the computer and, since her Academy days, never lost against another person. Always, she completed the mission. Sometimes that meant a suicide attack, other times, she could safely destroy the enemy first, and sometimes it was a race to a particular objective. On her old ship, the Red Baron, her record on the Sim6000 was legendary. She’d even helped write a few sims.

“Play again?”

Nera’s watch beeped, reminding her stomach that it had not been fed since 0700 and it was now 1200 hours. She punched in a negative and, stretching and yawning, took off the VR gear.

“You did that on purpose!”

Nera blinked, dumbfounded. She stared, bewildered, at a group of rookie pilots, all glaring angrily at her. At their front stood Deb. None of them looked like they’d had any sleep.

“Did what?”

“You made us all look like idiots!” Deb accused her.

“What are you talking about?” Nera asked, trying to not look as alarmed and concerned as she felt.

“You purposely chose that scenario, just to make us look stupid. Don’t deny it! We all know you did it on purpose.”

“The computer – “ Nera began. Deb cussed, stepping forward and waving her finger at her sister’s nose. That close, Nera received a deep whiff of the alcohol on her breath. Oh, gods, she thought, she’s drunk.

“—Just ‘cause I’m better’n you!” Deb was saying.

Despite herself, Nera began to bristle.

“You’re nuthin ‘but a pig ole fat cheater!”

“Cheat?” Nera exclaimed. “Why you’ve some nerve, Debbra Nichole! I’ve never cheated in an entire thing in my entire life! Nothing but your own self-righteous, self-absorbed attitude lost you that sim! I’ve more experience and less booze in my favor!”

“I’m not drunk!” Deb hollered. “You just take that back!”

Deb’s off-center punch was intercepted by a big, brawny, and bronze-colored fist. “You are dismissed,” Colonel Veek said coldly to the cluster of rookies, thrown into immediate, sobered silence by his presence. “You,” he said, looking first at Deb, then at Nera, “I will see in my office.”

Deb let out her breath in an aggravated and offended mutter as the door slid closed behind their Group Commander. “Well, I guess we better get this over with!”

“Wait,” Nera caught her sister’s arm.

Deb threw her off with shake and an angry glare. “What?”

“Its tradition,” Nera sniffed, out of sorts. “We have to wait an hour and let him get there first so he’s ready for us.”

“Hmphf!”

Nera stared after her sister, confused and worried. Fighting was a serious offense. You could be demoted for something like that. And to be drunk and fighting was even worse. And what would he say to her? She’d lost her temper as usual. When it came to her sister, Nera just couldn’t hold back. She’d been as ready to fight as Deb, and without the alcohol to cloud her judgment.

At the appointed hour, Nera stood in front of the commander’s office, Deb sulking behind her. She knocked once.

“Enter.”

The door slid aside, an ominous sound. Nera marched inside, faced the desk. Together with her sister she saluted. “Sir, Captain Chmielewski and Lieutenant Chmielewski, reporting as ordered.”

Colonel Veek returned their salute, frowning at them. “Explain.”

“It was nothing,” Nera said quickly, “sir, just a sibling quarrel.”

“Indeed. Lieutenant?”

“We had an argument, sir, and I lost my temper.”

“There is no excuse for this, any of it.”

“No, sir,” Nera said. “It won’t happen again.”

“It had better not, Captain. As an officer in MY group, I expect better from you. If you cannot behave as is appropriate for your rank, that can be adjusted.”

“Yes, sir!”

“As for you, Lieutenant, I had a look at your records. You will not make a repeat of this. I do not want to see you in my office again for fighting or you will be assigned elsewhere. I will not have drunken rows or fighting of any kind aboard this ship. Not while I am in command. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sisters or not,” and his gaze included both, “you will act as dutiful members of this group and this ship and officers of this fleet. I have no time for babysitting children. If you cannot work this out on your own, I will see to it that you are transferred to the first garbage hauler that comes up. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir!” Nera said, fighting to stay at attention.

“Yes, sir,” Deb echoed.

“Very well.”

“Will that be all, sir?” Nera asked.

“Yes, for you, Lieutenant. Captain, I need a word with you.”

Deb saluted. “Permission to be dismissed, sir?”

He saluted back. “Dismissed.” When the door slid closed behind her, the older man relaxed, leaning back into his chair. “At ease, Captain.”

Nera let her rigid posture relax a little, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

“You better be damn glad I came in when I did.”

“Yes, sir, I apologize, I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

“No, but never mind that, I trust you not to make the same mistake twice.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “I actually went to play against you in the Sim.”

“You did?”

He nodded. “I did. Even I have heard of your exploits aboard the Red Baron. I wanted to see how I would fare.” He shrugged. “Perhaps another time. It was not the computer, however, that created that last sim. I did.”

“You, sir? Why?”

“I wanted to see if we would win, or if it was just luck. Luck, it seems, was on our side. My question, then, is this: are we being lured into a trap?”

“You think the attack was a ploy, sir? But how could they get so far past our lines?”

“I want you to run every sim you think will help you, but I need to know, before we get too much farther, what we’re up against.” He handed her a palm-sized disk. “This will give you full access to the Sim. I need your help, Captain. Find out what we’re flying into.”

Nera took the disk, her cheeks red with pride and embarrassment. “I will do my best, sir.”

“I need better than that.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Go on, get out of here. Just watch you don’t get too protective of your sister. She is a good pilot.”

“Yes, sir. Will that be all, sir?”

“That will be all.”

Nera saluted, the warmth of pride turning to a cold lump in the pit of her stomach. “Permission to be dismissed, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Continue to "3: Illusions can be Deceiving"